Page 114 of The Man Next Door
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It’s been a week since Abe left. I’ve been keeping busy with work, hoping that it might help me think less about him. Unfortunately, it hasn’t. I’ve been flighty and distracted, my mind full of Abe. In fact, I’ve been practically obsessed.
I’ve taken my conversation with the girls into consideration, but I’ve been too much of a chicken to actually go out and do something about it, too afraid he might reject me.
I found his profile on Facebook, the real him; Abraham Reed. All this time, he had this life, this life I used to be part of. I smile at the sight of photos of him and Adele. It’s been eighteen years, but she hasn’t changed that much. She has the same friendly smile and sparkly blue eyes. Her hair is lighter and not quite as lustrous as it used to be, and fine lines surround the edges of her eyes and mouth, but she’s still the same Adele.
As it turns out, Abe does have friends, quite a few of them. I debate sending him a friend request, but ultimately I decide not to. It would be too forward. I content myself with stalking his profile, hoping for a post, a clue of where he might be at, but no such luck. His feed is sporadic, and I’m not too optimistic.
I’m just getting in, my arms full of grocery bags when my cell pings. I’m not too eager to answer it. Melanie’s been hounding me all day. Doesn’t she realize it’s the weekend? In her defense, she’s quite invested in our current case, a young runaway from a broken home. I admire her dedication to her work.
When I finally set the bags on the counter and check my phone, my breath almost gets away from me. A text from Abe.
It’s just a link, but it might as well be the holy grail. My finger works at lightning speed as I click on it. It takes me to a YouTube video.
There he is, sitting on a blue sofa I’ve never seen. He’s wearing a blue Superman t-shirt and his hair is mussed up just the way I like it. God, why does he have to be so beautiful?
“Hello, everyone. I know it’s been a while, but I’m back.”
His playful smile tugs at my heart, reminding me of everything I’m missing.
“This is my latest song,” he adds. “ I just wrote it yesterday.” He dips his head and settles his hands on his guitar.
“I’ve written it for a girl I’ve loved my whole life,” he goes on. “The most amazing woman I know. It’s calledHopeless.”
He lifts his head again. “Abby, this one’s for you. I know it’s complicated between us, and I’m not the greatest at expressing myself.” His smile is shy. “But I’m not too bad when I’m writing my songs.”
He starts strumming, and my eyes are glued to the small screen of my phone, my heart in my throat. The beautiful acoustic sound fills my kitchen, and I raise the volume.
“Golden hair under the sun,
She was so pretty then.
When she held my hand…
For the first time.”
“I was hopeless.
Hopeless for her.
Hopeless for her then.
Hopeless for her now.”
“She was a friend.
The sweetest kind.
When she laughed,
She lit up my world.”
“I was hopeless.
Hopeless for her.
Hopeless for her then.
